Obey Me
by CupcakeSprinkles14
Summary: Modern day, BDSM: When he discovers Rye is in trouble with a gang of drug dealers, Peeta must hand himself over in exchange for his brother's life to become the leader, Cato Hadley,'s pleasure slave. As an inexperienced virgin, Peeta's new lifestyle is terrifying and embarrassing and . . . amazing as well. To keep his brother safe, he can't back out, but will he really want to?
1. Innocence Doesn't Exist

**A/N: So I'm writing this instead of my 'Fifty Shades of Hadley' idea but it's basically the same principal. This is based off an awesome story I'm reading on Booksiesilk called 'Honor thy Master' by Eros Cupid. I'd definitely recommend it, it's awesome! :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

_**Chapter One: Innocence Doesn't Exist**_

The day began, as any other day, with the sun rising.

It was a weird thing to note but, every day, on the dot, Peeta woke up at sunrise. He nudged the curtains out of the way with his fingers and peered out the window. The sky was on fire, lit up with soft oranges and firey yellows. The sky was alight, almost like God had lit a match and held it against the clouds just to watch them sparkle as they burned.

Peeta climbed out of bed and stretched his tired limbs. He shivered as his bones cracked into place and padded into the bathroom to wash up. It was the baker in him that still woke up so early, never having adjusted to having a job that started at a later hour.

As he made his way across the hall, Peeta popped his head into his brother Rye's room. Huh, he wasn't there. Odd. Maybe he was staying with Wheat tonight . . .

Rye alternated between living with Peeta and living with Wheat because he was the jobless middle child who couldn't afford his own apartment. He wasn't broke, Peeta knew he had money, but he spends it all as soon as he gets it. And Peeta had never seen his brother work a day in his life. So there had always been the mystery of where Rye's money came from.

Still, Peeta always found that it was better not to ask. Especially where Rye was concerned.

Once dressed, Peeta rung Delly, who he could always trust to be up this early as well.

"Sup P-dog," his friend answered.

"So you're a gangster now?" Peeta snickered, brushing the crumbs off his kitchen counter from his breakfast and heading to the door. He always went for a walk as dawn broke before he had to go to work for the day.

"No, I just wanted an interesting introduction," Delly giggled. "You coming to the group tonight?"

The group Peeta and Delly attended was an LGBT support group for individuals struggling with their sexuality. It was a good group, everyone who attended where extremely supportive and not at all judgemental. Peeta had discovered the group when he had been tossed out by his mother for admitting that he was struggling with his sexuality. That was how he had met Delly, actually, as she was a trans-gender struggling to be accepted into society for who she was. She had recently gotten her surgery and desperately wanted to leave her life as Dywhite behind.

Even though Delly had finally come to terms with who she was, she still attended with Peeta for support, as he was still struggling to discover who he was. The thing was, Peeta couldn't get to grips with the term 'sexuality'. Did it mean who a person is attracted to, or did it imply something deeper? If someone asked him, he identified as bi but he wasn't completely sure. It was a grey area for him, weird and extremely confusing.

And the support group did help him.

Sort of.

"Yeah, I might swing by," Peeta said, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder as he took his coat off the hook and stuck his keys into the door. "When should we meet? Five, six?"

"Go five, my hair appointment was cancelled anyway," Delly replied. "I'll see you then?"

"You got it."

"Byeeee."

"See you."

Peeta hung up and dropped his phone into his pocket.

Let another day begin.

But this was going to be a far from ordinary day.

~xXx~

"You see, I don't think that there is just the terms straight and gay," Gloss explained. "I think everyone has it in them. No one knows which the are until there's that spark with the person they love. And even then it's not certain. Who's to say a married man won't later in life see an attractive male and fall for them, as well? And who's to say that a lesbian woman won't meet a man and date him? Sexuality isn't just point A or B. It's this wild, uncontrolled thing that is weird yet fantastic at the same time."

Gloss had always been very passionate with his rants. Peeta admired his determination and wished he had the confidence to stand up and express his views like that. Every week the group leader, Seeder, would ask if he had anything he'd like to share, and every time he'd say no. For the first few weeks he thought that everyone else might start thinking he's a freeloader, standing around and not contributing, but eventually he realized that it wasn't about speaking out, it was about seeking help and hopefully finding the advice he needed.

"I mean, look at Delly," Gloss pointed at Delly, who blinked in surprise at being actknowledged. "She's had her surgery, MTF. What do you identify as Delly?"

"Well, I used to say straight but now I think it might be bi . . ." Delly scratched her head in deep thought, ruffling her golden curls.

"You see, the whole idea of sexuality _is_ confusing," Gloss continued. "We're not the weird ones for being honest and admitting that we're a little lost. It's those people out there who act like they're not who are strange. Everyone's a little straight and yes, everyone's a little gay also."

"Like when teenagers play that 'if you were gay, who would you screw' games?" Rue asked.

"Exactly!" Gloss declared. "Sub-consciously, they're giving truthful answers!"

"Interesting views and passionate delivery as usual, Mr Taggart," Seeder smiled. "Okay everyone, I think that will be us for the day. Remember, you're only as sad as you let yourself be."

Ah, the group motto. It was inter-changeable. One week it could be 'you're only as sad as you let yourself be' the next it would be 'don't let the fear of what others think change who you are'. All were equally as inspiring but the constant mind changing was a bit tiring.

"That Gloss guy was really passionate," Delly noted.

"I know, right? I wish I could be that confident in my views," Peeta replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was only one who hadn't spoken out yet, even Delly spoke about her surgery.

Delly patted his back. "You'll get there someday."

Peeta and Delly went in opposite directions, parting on the pavement with a quick hug and farewell. Peeta walked pretty fast, a habit he had since he was a kid trying to get home before the bullies caught up with him, and soon found himself trailing a few metres behind Gloss, who was talking on the phone.

"Yeah, I'll get it done tonight I was just at that group," the man said. "Yeah, I don't think they know."

Peeta heard some muttering on the other side of the phone but tried to concentrate on something else so he wasn't eavesdropping.

The sky was pitch black down and he felt a twinge of disappointment that he had missed the sunset. The expanse of the sky above looked like an oil spill, stretching for miles and curving around and only intervened with small pinpricks were the stars glittered like jewels.

"Ryean? Yeah, I know, the idiot's in trouble again," Gloss said. Peeta cocked his head and frowned. Huh, his brother was called Ryean. "Ryean Mellark, I know."

Peeta's eyes widened. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Wheat.

_"Is Rye at ur house?"_

Wheat texted back immediately.

_"No. I thought he was wif u."_

"His brother goes to the group," said Gloss. "Not Wayne, the pretty one. Aye, Peeta." Peeta reached out and grabbed the back of Gloss' jacket, pulling him to a hault. The man turned around, slightly startled, before a grin formed on his face. "Oh hey Peeta."

"Why are you talking about my brother?" asked Peeta.

Gloss snorted. "Because the idiot's gotten himself in trouble."

"Trouble, how?" Peeta's heart started to pound. What had Rye gotten himself into now? "Look, if he's broken something, or stole anything, I'll pay for the damages-"

Gloss waved his hand. "It's not me he's offended. It's my boss. I'm just the messenger," he said.

Peeta narrowed his eyes. "How did you know my and Wayne's names? I haven't spoken to you before in my entire life," he said.

"I know Rye, he's a friend," Gloss explained. "He talks about you."

Now that was bullshit. If Rye had a choice, he would deny Wayne and his existance. "You called me pretty," Peeta stated.

"Yes, I did."

Peeta raised his eyebrows, waiting on an explanation that didn't come. "And . . . ?" he prompted.

"_And_ there's nothing else to it. Don't look into things for complications that aren't there," Gloss grinned. He tapped Peeta's nose and seemed amused when he stepped back and scowled. "So, can I go now?"

"Wait," Peeta stepped forward again, "do you know where Rye is?" Surely if this man had just been talking about him, he'd know where Rye was. Sometimes Peeta's brother could disappear for months on end if not caught.

"I do." Gloss didn't elaborate and started to walk away.

"Well, where is he?!" Peeta yelled after him. "Hey asshole, I'm talking to you!"

Gloss laughed, the sound echoing around the empty streets. "Wow, Mellark, you've more fire that your brother! I wish Rye had your spirit!"

Determined to find out where his brother was and what he had gotten himself into, Peeta followed Gloss, but at a distance, so he didn't suspect him. Peeta lost him twice but soon tracked him down again. He followed him all the way out of town, to an abandoned warehouse with a scratched **18** printed on it.

Gloss was no where to be seen. There was somebody lying in the middle of the floor.

Peeta's blood ran cold.

"Rye!" he yelled, his feet echoing around the warehouse as he ran towards his brother and dropping to his knees beside him. He turned Rye around onto his back and tapped his face. His brother didn't respond. His lip was swollen and there was a bruise under his eye. "Oh god, Rye, wake up!"

"Step away from the body."

Peeta looked up and saw Gloss come out of the shadows. "What did you do to him?!" he shouted.

"It wasn't me, it was my boss."

"And who the fuck is your boss, I'd like to have a word with him!" Gloss produced a small pistol from his pocket and any other hateful language died in Peeta's throat. He stood up slowly and backed away a little. "Is he dead?" he finally croaked.

"No," Gloss answered. "Dead to the world, yes." He stepped around the body so they were inches apart. "Does anyone else know you're here?"

"No," Peeta answered.

Gloss nodded and kicked his legs apart, patting him down to make sure he wasn't carrying anything. His fingers roamed his backside before his hands curiously stroked his inner thighs and squeezed his groin.

"Do you mind?" Peeta spat, his cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

Gloss smirked arrogantly. "You're not carrying any weapons, although that bulge in your pants might be something Cato would be interested in."

"Fuck you," snapped Peeta. "What have you done to my brother?"

"He'll live, chill," Gloss said. He jerked the gun in his hand. "Follow me." Peeta had no choice but to follow Gloss to the main building and into a small office. "Ryean's brother followed me here. No one knows he's here and I doubt there's anyone who'll come looking for him."

An attractive blond man sat with his feet up on a desk. He quirked an eyebrow. "Wayne or the pretty one?" he asked.

"Can't you tell?" answered Gloss. Peeta rolled his eyes and jerked his arm out of Gloss' hold. "He's got some fire in him."

"I can see," the blond man said.

"Are you his boss?" Peeta demanded.

The man nodded. "Yes, I'm Cato," he said.

"Well what the fuck did you do to my brother?"

"Your brother owes us money," Cato explained. "Money he says he can't pay."

Peeta eyed Cato wearily. "How much?"

"Five thousand."

Peeta could have passed out right there._ Five thousand dollars?_ What the hell had Rye been up to? "What did he do? Or break? Or . . . uh . . . steal?" he asked.

"He _stole_ merchandise. Used it without permission."

"What sort of merchandise?" Peeta asked.

The Cato guy smirked, as if he knew something that Peeta didn't. Then again, he probably did. "How much do you actually know about your brother? Don't you keep track of what he gets up to, after that incident with the old lady?"

"That was an _accident_," Peeta snapped. "She tripped and accused Rye of pushing her!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure old ladies trip on flat ground all the time," said Cato.

Peeta scowled. He was entirely pissed off with this situation. All he wanted was to collect his brother and get home. "What did he take without permission?"

"Drugs," Gloss grunted.

Peeta looked at him as if he just said that Rye took a rocket and flew to the moon. "My brother isn't a druggie," he said. "What is it really?"

"Nope, it's drugs," Cato grinned. "Your brother hits that shit. Evidently, without my permission. He's been taking my supply behind my back and smoking it all away. I would have been able to over look it if it had have just been two or three times but he's lost me five thousand dollars worth. Now he's going to have to pay for it."

Everything was getting horribly surreal. "Don't hurt him," Peeta said. He tried to step forward but Gloss grabbed his arm and held him back. "Please. He's just been going through some things recently. I promise he won't do it again."

"I don't know," Cato mused, "five thousand is a lot of money."

"Well . . . is there anything I can do?" Peeta asked. "I have money of my own, I'm sure my car alone is worth at least two thousand alone."

"That's very sweet of you but I already have a car of my own," Cato replied. Peeta had a rush of panic. Oh god, what was he going to do? If he didn't do something, Rye was going to get hurt or even worse, killed, for using drugs that weren't his. "Although, there is something else you could do. A position I could offer in exchange for your brother's life." Cato quirked an eyebrow.

It took Peeta a moment to understand. And it still didn't make sense. The way Gloss' boss was looking at him gave it all away . . .

"You want me to prostitute myself for you?" he asked.

"Well, to put it bodly, yes."

"What? You're crazy!" Peeta exclaimed.

Cato shrugged. "I mean, I could just kill Rye, it wouldn't bother me-"

"No, wait, don't!" Peeta blurted out in a panic. "Fine, I'll do it, just don't hurt my brother."

Cato grinned. "I knew you'd see things my way." He looked at Gloss. "Sort Rye out and I'll take Peeta back to my place." Peeta's heart sped up but he didn't let it show on his face. If Rye found out he was doing this, he would flip his lid. Urgh, why did Rye always get himself into these problems anyway? Now Peeta was going to have to go home with some guy he barely knew and sell his body to him for his brother's safety.

Cato's house was huge. He must have been extremely wealthy, to afford such extravangant accomodation. It made Peeta wonder if five thousand even made a dent in his wealth. He had no choice but to follow this man up the stairs of his house and into this room that looked like an office.

Everything was shiny and made of mahogany wood.

"Are you sure you can't just cut Rye so slack?" Peeta asked. "I mean, it looks like you have enough money."

"It's not the money, it's the principal of the thing," Cato said. "If I let Ryean get away with it, everyone will think they can get away with it."

"You can't make an acception?" Peeta asked weakly.

Cato grinned. "Of course I can't," he said. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his desk and passed it to Peeta. "Read that."

_**I, the willing participant of this arrangement, solemnly swear under this verbal agreement, to be a willing participant of said Master, Cato Hadley, to act as servant, submissive, and slave and consent to a BDSM relationship as long as both parties agree and adhere to the bounderies displayed within the confines of the experience.**_

_**As noted, both Dominant and Submissive will have equal partnership in the relationship and respect the bounderies of both parties in the areas of kinks, fetishes, and fantasy exploration. In addition, it shall be the Master's job to care for and protect the well-being of his slave in all aspects of his life including respecting any connections outside the relationship and ensuring their present situation remain descreet and secretive.**_

"Hold the fuck up, is this like some Fifty Shades of Grey shit?!" Peeta exclaimed. "No fucking way!"

"This isn't Mommy Porn, Peeta," Cato said, rolling his eyes and dropping into the seat by his desk. "Look, if you do this for me, I swear I'll look after your brother. There's a rehab center about two hours away from here in District 6 and if you do this I'll pay for his treatment."

Peeta narrowed his eyes. "Why me?" he asked.

Cato shrugged. "No reason. You're hot and desperate, the recipe for a willing participant," he said. He put his feet up on the desk and crossed his ankles. "I mean, I knew Ryean was a little attractive and when Gloss started calling you the pretty one I thought it was just because Gloss would fuck a lamp post but he actually wasn't wrong."

"You're disgusting," Peeta muttered, folding his arms self consciously. He didn't want to admit it but he had always been interested in the whole concept of BDSM but as someone who was still struggling with his sexuality, it was quite a difficult thing to even attempt. But this was for his brother. "Where do I sign?"

"You don't sign it," Cato answered. "As disappointing as it is, you can back out whenever you want. But when you back out, my support for your brother goes out the window, understand?"

Peeta didn't know why he nodded immediately but he did. Cato was attractive enough, he supposed, at least that was something.

"And," the older man drawled, "I already have the first lesson planned."

"What . . . What is it?"

Cato smirked. "I want you to strip for me."

**A/N: I'd greatly recommend reading 'Honor thy Master'. It's a great story.**

**Also, over the summer I'm accepting prompts and requests for Peetato one shots! Just PM me with an idea! :D**

**Please R&R with yours thoughts!**


	2. As the Day you are Born

**A/N: Thanks for all the awesome reviews guys! Here's chapter two just for you! :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

_**Chapter Two: As the Day You are Born**_

Peeta was taken aback. Was Cato serious? Right here . . . as in right now?

Cato watched him carefully, gauging his reaction. The asshole knew that he was obviously going to have to do it because if he turned him down, Rye's welfare was at stake. But it was so random and aburpt. They literally just came to this agreement and Cato already wanted him to do something.

Peeta didn't realize he was backing up until his back came in contact with the door. The only time he had ever taken his clothes off was in gym class and for the last few weeks of his schooling he had stopped doing gym because his classmates found out he was bi and made a big deal out of it, as if just because he was gay he was immediately going to have a crush on them. One of the most annoying gay stereotypes.

"Are you going to fuck me?" he asked. Peeta hated how his voice wobbled. He had never had sex with anyone before. Sure, some of his relationships had lead to kissing and teasing, but as soon as it got to anything intensely sexual then he froze up and wanted to stop. So, yeah, he was a twenty three year old, honest to God virgin. He was already regretting agreeing to this.

His question made Cato laugh. "I'm not going to touch you," he said. "I just want to see what Submissive I'm inheriting."

"Inheriting? What am I, a family heriloom?" Peeta asked.

"No, but you do realize the more questions you ask, the longer this whole ordeal is going to be, right?" asked Cato. He sounded so self satisifed, Peeta wanted to smack the jerk out of him.

But he did make a good point. The faster he got this done, the faster they could move on from it. But then, if they moved on from it, what was the next step to this whole . . . arrangement?

Taking a deep breath, Peeta tried to undo the knot of his tie. Damn it, it wasn't going to come out. He _never_ tied it this tight! His fingers fumbled with it for a good five minutes before he got it out. Really, he was so relieved he threw the piece of fabric to the floor with a flourish.

His hands were trembling, which was pretty ridiculous. Okay, so he was taking his clothes off in front of a guy who had the power to kill his brother with a flick of the wrist but it could be worse, right? Rye could be dead . . . Then again, the day was young, if Cato wasn't going to kill Rye, Peeta might do it himself.

The shaking of his hands made it ten times more difficult to pull out the buttons of his shirt. Either a part of him sub-consciously didn't want to do this or another part was too excited to get it done properly. What? He couldn't be a _little_ bit excited?

Peeta could feel Cato's eyes on him the entire time but he ignored the burning gaze as he shrugged the shirt off. Never had he been so relieved that he wore an undershirt before in his entire life. Maybe if he didn't bring attention to it, Cato mightn't notice if he kept it on.

Cato wet his lips and smirked. "And the shirt," he said.

Damn, it was worth a shot.

Peeta reached behind him grumpily and pulled the undershirt over his head. Well, at least it wasn't cold. When Cato stood up and walked around his desk, Peeta crossed his arms over his chest self consciously. He had always been aware of the fact that he wasn't the most 'gifted' in the terms of muscle mass. He just had never found the time to concentrate on that sort of thing. And judging by the way Cato filled out his t-shirt, he wasn't looking for some skinny streak of nothing.

Cato pushed his arms apart. "Don't cover yourself, I want to see your chest."

Sighing, Peeta resisted the urge to cover himself again as the older man's eyes roamed over his tiny frame. He had this weird, sickly pale complexion that had always made teachers think he was ill when he was a kid. Cato brushed the back of his hand along the small curves of his torso.

"You're so innocent it's almost cute," he noted. Peeta flinched when his fingers got dangerously curious and stepped back wearily.

"You said you weren't going to touch me," he said.

Cato held his hands up in defensive. "Okay, you're right," he said, sounding not at all sorry. "Continue to undress."

Nearly there, just a couple more articles of clothes. Peeta sucked in more air, as if it would calm his beating heart, and proceeded to kick off his shoes and socks. He unbuckled his belt and he didn't have to even touch his pants for them to fall. For a twenty three year old, his figure was very slim, and a lot of the clothes he bought were very big for him (it was either that or shop in the kid's section, which was _not_ an option).

"Nearly there," Cato sang, his eyes alight with delight. Peeta narrowed his eyes and scowled. "I want to see _all_ of you."

"Do you have to?" Peeta asked helplessly.

"No," Cato answered honestly. "But I didn't say have to. I said _want_ to."

"Want to," Peeta repeated. "Right. Are you naturally a pervert?"

Cato shrugged. "You tell me."

"I think you are."

"Well, then, I am."

Peeta depleted a little. "But that's not going to change anything, is it?"

Cato shrugged. He reached out and brushed strand of hair out of Peeta's eyes, a sly grin curling onto his face when the younger boy flinched. "Are you going to take it off or shall I do it for you?" he asked.

Peeta's blood boiled. Cato stepped back and did a gesture with his hand that said, _please continue._ God, he wanted to punch this fucker in the face. Filling his air with lungs and letting it out slowly, Peeta hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pulled them down until they dropped on their own.

Really, when he let someone see his naked body for the first time, Peeta hadn't thought that it would be because he was trying to keep Rye out of trouble. He fought not to focus on the fact that he was bare as the day as he was born and had never let anyone see him in this way before.

Cato was silent and this was a little unnerving. He did a body inventory with his eyes before doing that thing that soliders would do in movies when they encircle a new recruit to examine their assests. Peeta wanted to run away and hide, curl up in a corner where no one can see him and maybe weep a little in embarrassment.

In that moment, every fault came into his mind. Skinny, sickly pale, bony hips, abnormally shapely legs, scar on the small of back . . . Urgh, why did he have to be so self-conscious? If he didn't have a care in the world about how other people perceived him then this whole situation would have been a lot easier.

Peeta could guess what sort of person Cato was and it didn't take half a brain to perdict that he had a perfect body. He was probably laughing at him on the inside, noting every flaw with his body.

Suddenly, Peeta noticed him lifting his hands to touch him.

"Cato, remember what you said-"

Cato grabbed his hair and pulled him forward a little, ignoring his yelp of surprise. "Don't you remember what it says on the contract? That's not what you call me."

"What do I call you then?"

Cato smirked. "Think about it."

So Peeta thought about it. "M-Master?" he guessed.

Cato grinned and loosened his grip on his hair. "There you go. Now put your hands behind your back and keep your mouth shut."

"Can I say one last thing?" asked Peeta.

Cato quirked a curious eyebrow. "What?"

Peeta scowled. "Go fuck yourself."

That shit-eating grin formed on Cato's face again. He let go of his hair and smoothed down the frayed hairs. "I don't need to do that anymore, I've got you." To cut off an response Peeta might have had, he placed his hand over his mouth. "Quiet," he whispered.

_Whatever._ Peeta nodded.

Cato did that horribly embarrassing thing where he paced around him, his eyes taking in every inch of him thoughtfully. Peeta couldn't tell if he liked what he saw or if he only saw a bony boy who looked younger than he was. It was most unnerving when the man was behind him, where he couldn't see him. Peeta still felt his eyes on him, like burned like hot coals into his skin. It got to the point where he was so close, Peeta could feel his breath tickling his ear.

"You are truly beautiful," Cato growled.

Peeta blinked. Huh? He resisted the urge to open his mouth and start asking more questions. He had to bite down hard on his lip, so hard he drew a little blood.

Thankfully, Cato moved to stand in front of him again. "I'm going to ask you a question so you're allowed to talk," he said. Peeta nodded, releasing his abused lip so the blood ran down his chin a little. He quickly wiped it before his master saw it. "Have you ever had sex?"

Somehow, Peeta had sensed that question coming. He didn't answer, reluctant to relive the shame of being in his twenties and still being a virgin. He hugged himself shamefully and hoped Cato got the idea.

He did.

"I see. Not with anyone? Male or female?"

"No," Peeta mumbled. He lowered his eyes to floor. "You're going to take my viriginity, aren't you?"

"I plan too, anyway," answered Cato. "Do you want to lose it?"

"I don't . . . I don't know. I don't want to be touched, I know that," Peeta answered.

"Do you _like _being touched?"

Peeta didn't know how to answer this. He struggled for an answer but couldn't find a suitable one. He had never been touched in an intimate way before so he wasn't entirely sure why he didn't want it to happen but he also didn't know whether he would like it or not.

"Have you ever been kissed?" asked Cato.

"Yes!" Peeta blurted out, relieved to have something to show for himself.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

Peeta felt his cheeks heat up. Did he? Cato was attractive, down right handsome really, but Peeta wasn't sure whether he wanted to kiss him or not. Did he? He didn't know if he was ready or not.

Then something bizarre happened.

Cato enclosed Peeta in his arms, holding him almost gently. Peeta froze, feeling completely vulnerable and afraid. His bare skin rubbed against the rough material of Cato's clothes as the older man's strong hands explored the expanse of his back. A shiver tingled down Peeta's spine and he felt himself relax a little. For some odd reason, the feeling of Cato's hands on his body was so sweet, he almost didn't want to be released from the embrace.

When he risked looking up to look into Cato's eyes, the older man captured his lips in a sweet kiss. Peeta didn't respond for a moment, too scared to move or do anything other than stand still. His stomach was doing backflips and he felt a little ill with excitement.

Peeta leaned in closer, his eyes fluttering shut as he tried to find more of the warmth that came from Cato's lips. His stomach pressed against something hard and in the back of his mind he knew what it was but he didn't care. All he wanted was more of this, more of the delight that came with kissing Cato. His master devoured his mouth but he didn't care, gasping for breath in the small intervals when they pulled apart.

But then the truth came crashing back down on him and Peeta's stomach lurched. He pulled himself out of the embrace, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and panting in a panic.

Cato didn't seem fazed by his reaction. He simply turned around and went back to his desk. "Put your clothes back on, Peeta," he said.

Thankful, Peeta scrambled to put his clothes back on. Once fully dressed again, Cato was back to sitting at his desk, feet propped up on it casually. "I think I'm beginning to understand," he said. "When are your days off?"

"Wednesdays and Thursdays."

"Okay, you come and see me on your days off," Cato instructed. "Gloss will drive you and Rye home."

Peeta nodded, his heart still racing. He turned to leave but was stopped at the door.

"And Peeta? I expect to see you next week."

**A/N: Please R&R! :D**


	3. Balanced as a Crane

**Warnings: Mentions of rape and use of offence language.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

_**Chapter Three: Balanced as a Crane**_

The next week, Peeta felt like he was choking. Like when he was in high school and his collar was too tight in the warm months but he couldn't undo it without there being a risk of detention. He stood outside Cato's house, trying to smooth down some frayed nerves, before knocking with a shaky hand.

A girl with ink black hair answered the door. There was a smattering of light brown freckles across her nose and her green eyes were fierce. "Yes?" she asked.

"Um . . . I'm here to see Cato?" Peeta said.

"That's Mr Hadley to you," the girl said sharply. Peeta felt like he had been slapped.

"Okay then, is Mr Hadley here or should I come back later?" he asked.

The girl stepped away from the doorway. "He's here." Was that an invitation to come in? Guessing that it was, Peeta stepped into the house and waited for further instruction as the girl closed the door behind her. He frowned, was she a maid or something?

"Why do you keep staring at me?" she demanded. "Where you expecting an old spanish lady to come and say, 'No, Meester Hadley is no home'. That's racist you know!"

What was this girl's problem? "Uh, no, that wasn't what I was thinking at all," Peeta said.

Not looking one bit convinced, the girl pointed up the large staircase that was located in the middle of the large foyer. "Up there, to the right. You canny miss it." What was that accident? "Now if you excuse me, I've got work to do. Oh, and the name's Clove, since you didn't ask."

It certainly looked like Clove had woken up at the wrong side of the bed this morning.

Peeta shook his head and headed up the stairs. The collar-choking sensation was returning and he was reminded of swimming lessons, when he thrashed in the water and only barely kept himself above the surface to breathe. When he stopped outside Cato . . . Mr Hadley . . . Master?'s office, Peeta knew he was about to dive in. Dive into the unknown.

His hand was still shaking when he knocked, ladened down with nerves. Cato didn't hesitate before answering. "Come in."

Peeta nervously entered the office, wishing he could figure out a way to get out of this. But Rye was responding well in rehab, he knew he couldn't put that at risk, no matter what this man decided to do to him or his body.

Cato was standing by a window, his back to Peeta. Unable to resist, the younger boy's eyes wandered over his so called 'master's' physiche. Even though he wasn't entirely happy about the situation, he wasn't entirely upset about it either. Cato was strong, muscled, handsome. If Peeta had to pick someone out of a line up to control him, he probably would have went straight for Cato.

"Enjoying the view?" asked Cato, jerking him out of his thoughts.

"What?" Peeta asked in alarm. The older man looked over his shoulder and smirked at him. Peeta flushed, immediately ashamed. Cato's eyes were deep green, a sea of sparkling emerald, and the sight of them made Peeta's heart skip a beat. "I wasn't looking at anything."

"Don't worry about it, Peeta," Cato said, sounding amused. There was that urge to punch him again. "How's Rye doing?"

_Why the hell do you care?_ Peeta almost blurted out. He managed to refrain from it, however. "Fine," he said carefully. "Responding well." Peeta folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. "How long have you been dealing nightlock?"

Cato's eyebrows lifted. "How do you know about nightlock?"

"Doctor Abernathy told me," Peeta said. "Most of his patients are recovering nightlock abusers. Including my brother."

Cato shrugged, hardly seeming to care that Peeta knew he was dealing one of the most dangerous drugs in the entire country of Panem. "Five years."

Wow, Peeta had expected it to be longer. Huh.

"But you shouldn't be the ones asking the questions," said Cato. "I want to hear more about you, since you are my sub and all. I like to get to know my slaves personally as well as physically."

"What's there to say?" Peeta muttered. He wasn't being difficult, there wasn't much he could say about himself. Nothing came to mind that would seem particulary interesting to Cato at all. So he decided to bore him to death. "I'm twenty three, I was born here but raised in Mexico. My family moved back to Panem when my father died three years ago and we have been living here ever since. I got kicked out of college because Rye was spray painting a wall and I stopped him and ended up being the one caught with the paint in my hand so my education is zero. Oh and not to mention I am not the sex slave of a drug lord!"

Cato laughed. "I hate that term. 'Sex slave'. I like to consider you more as a pleasure slave."

"But a slave, none-the-less," Peeta replied.

"You're very pale for someone raised in Mexico," Cato pointed out.

"I stayed indoors," answered Peeta sourly.

Cato smirked devillishly. "Do you speak Spanish?"

Peeta scolwed. "No sé, puede que hable español?" he said sarcastically. Cato's eyes closed half way through the sentence as if savouring the moment. "Urgh, what now?"

"I love spanish, the language oozes sex," said Cato. Peeta blinked, resisting the urge to turn his nose up. "Now this keeps getting better and better. Gorgeous blue eyes, a body to die for and can speak the language that was built upon lust and sex? You, my friend, are the whole package."

"Do you want me to puke?" asked Peeta. "And don't expect me to speak it too often, the only time it happens is when my family are together."

"Oh, you naive man," Cato chuckled. "If I want to, I could get you to speak whatever I want to."

Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut about Mexico . . .

"Can we just get on with whatever it is you want out of today?" Peeta asked, wanting the day to be over already, even thought it had barely started.

Cato-the asshole he was-smirked. "Ask me in Spanish."

Peeta stared. "You're serious?" he said incredulously

Cato nodded. His eyes were alight with a playful gleam. "Deadly," he said.

Peeta clenched his jaw and sighed heavily. He shoved his hands into his pocket and muttered grumpily, "Podemos seguir con todo lo que te apetezca de hoy?"

His 'master' grinned and he blushed furiously. "We need to discuss the safe word before we do anything else," he said. "It has to be completely random and unrelated to anything we may be doing. It's so I know you're uncomfortable and want to stop. Does anything come to mind that could be your safe word?"

Peeta used the first word that popped into his head. "Pasta."

Cato snickered. "Pasta?" he asked.

"Yes," Peeta said defensively. "Completely random and unreleated, isn't that what you wanted?"

Lifting his hands up in surrender, Cato said, "Okay, whatever you want." He moved around the desk and Peeta found himself stepping backwards on instinct. Cato laughed. "I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, quite the opposite. Before I start anything serious with my subs, I like to get to know them on a more intimate level."

Intimate. In Cato's language that probably meant getting handcuffed and screwed on a bed or something horrid like that.

Noticing his hesitance, Cato held out his hand, with the intention of Peeta taking it. Absentmindely wondering what Cato's angle was, he placed his hand ontop of the older man's. Cato closed his hand around Peeta's smaller one and spun him round like a couple doing a waltz. Peeta yelped and banged into Cato, placing his hands on his strong chest to steady himself.

He looked up and tried to scowl, but once his eyes met Cato's, the scowl melted away. "Does intimacy mean sex to you?" he blurted out fearfully.

Cato chuckled and shook his head. "No," he said. "Although, I really want to see more of that gorgeous pale skin again."

Peeta swallowed. "You do?"

Cato grinned deviously. Peeta forced himself to stay perfectly still as his master's fingers found the buttons on his shirt and flicked them out of their holes. Even though Cato's house was well insulated and perfectly warm, when all the buttons were undone, Peeta shivered.

"You cold?" Cato teased.

Peeta narrowed his eyes. "Shut up," he muttered peevishly.

Cato grabbed the lapels of his shirt and tugged him forward so their lips met firecely. Peeta made an alarmed sound at the back of his throat but found himself adjusting pretty quickly. He felt something touching his chest but it didn't fully register. Cato's hands pushed up from his chest to his shoulders, pushing his shirt off along the way.

Peeta flinched, unsure why, as his torso was exposed once again. His hands found Cato's shoulders and he pushed away with strength he didn't know he had. The older man took Peeta's chin and pulled their faces closer. It wasn't a rough touch, nor was it all that gentle. "I want to find out why you're so afriad of intimacy," he said.

"Oh?" asked Peeta.

"And I know how to do it. Go lie on the sofa over there." Cato pointed at the leather sofa over by the far wall. Not wanting to get his master angry, Peeta obeyed. It was a little awkward, lying down on a sofa in an unfamiliar environment half naked. "I'm going to try some hypnotherapy."

"I don't believe in that stuff," Peeta said.

"You don't have to," Cato replied. He mounted the sofa and sat down on Peeta's hips, his weight somehow comfortable. Peeta was extremely nervous and his palms were sweaty. Cato tipped his chin up and pointed at his eyes. "Look right at me." Peeta complied, gladly staring into Cato's gorgeous, green eyes. Even though he didn't believe in hypnotism, he might as well humour Cato.

He'd only been staring at Cato for a few minutes before his eyes got heavy. He tried to force himself to keep his eyes open but it was extremely difficult for some reason. "It's okay, Peeta, let go," Cato said gently, his voice soft and comforting.

Not needing any further provocation, Peeta's eyes fluttered shut.

A series of images began to play in his head.

_Where are you?_

"Mexico, my uncle Snow's house," Peeta said. "I remember it well, we stayed in this house when we grew up in in Santa La Diaz."

The same house, old and withering away. Peeling paint, ivy covering the walls, soppy fence, dandelions coating the grass in the front garden. Peeta saw himself standing in the gravel pathway that lead to the door. Rye was beside him, beaming like the innocent child that he was. They were eight years old again, playing the games they used to play.

_What are you doing?_

"I'm going into the house."

Peeta and Rye chased each other into the house, laughing and teasing each other. It was definitely Uncle Snow's house, the interior was the exact same. Mustard floral wallpaper, navy carpets, stairs immediately leading upstairs. Tchaikovsky fills the air, the gentle melody caressing their young ears. They run upstairs into a room.

_Are you having fun?_

"We're playing tag. We had always been rowdy . . ."

A old man with white hair suddenly comes into the room and Rye and Peeta fell silent. The man grumbled and scratched his ear, looking around the room and scowling. "Peeta! Ryean!" he yells.

_Who's that?_

"My Uncle Snow. We almost broke a vase and he doesn't like it."

"Stop!" Snow threatens. "You almost broke a vase!"

"Los cientos, Snow!" Rye and Peeta apolgized.

"I'm going out to get cigarettes, stay with Seneca until I get back," Snow says. He leaves the room without another word.

_Who's Seneca?_

Peeta twitched in his hynotic-state. Things were beginning to come back that he had buried for years. "Uncle Snow's friend," he says. A man with oily black hair and artistic beard enters the room. He wears a wife beater and khakis with flip flops. Peeta and Rye trusted Seneca, any friend of their uncle was a friend of theirs.

_Then what happens?_

The door shuts behind Snow. Seneca smiles. "Want to play hide and seek?" he says. Peeta and Rye nod happily. They laugh as Seneca covers his eyes and starts counting, running off to separate parts of the house to hide.

Peeta could sense something bad about to happen but he couldn't figure out what. He didn't know how to break through the surface of the hynotic state but he didn't know how to.

Seneca finds Peeta first. It was understandable, his hiding place sucked. He had been hiding behind the curtain in Snow's room, not realizing that his feet had been sticking out at the bottom. "You found me!" little Peeta gasps dramatically.

Seneca grins. "Yes, I did," he says. "Do you want to play another game?"

"What about Rye? Did you find him?"

"We don't need him to have fun."

Being the jealous little boy that he was, the idea of Seneca wanting to play a game with him instead of his brother was a big deal. "Okay, what game should we play?" he asks.

Seneca licks his lips and takes Peeta's tiny hand into his own. "How about let's make Seneca Crane happy?"

Peeta was gripped with fear. He felt Cato's hands on his face as he began to cry out and scream. _Peeta, what is it, what's happening?_

"No Seneca, please! No quiero, no quiero!"

_Peeta, what is it?!_

Peeta gasped for air, waiting nothing more than to get out of this memory. He had left it buried at the back of his head for a reason, he wanted to forget it for a reason. "It's Seneca! He's pinning me to the bed! He won't get off! He-He's tearing at my clothes!"

_Peeta, wake up!_

But he couldn't. Peeta screamed, trying to do what Cato said, but couldn't find his way out. Terrifying images flashed in his mind like strobe light effects. Rye bursting in, eyes widening. "Mama!" his tiny voice screams. "Mama, help!"

_Peeta, it's not real! WAKE UP!_

Their mother appears. Her face screws up in horror and she roars, jumping at Seneca and attacking him with her fists. Strong for a woman her age, she manages to throw him to the floor and kick him in gut. Peeta see what happened after that, he curled up on the bed and started to sob. He felt so violated and used.

_Peeta, wake up, it's not real._

"That didn't happen!" his mama said, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a shake. "It didn't happen, okay? It didn't!"

"Mama, ¿Qué es lo que hice?" Peeta croaked, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"It didn't happen!" his mother yelled, sounding more angry at him than at Seneca. "Esto no sucedió! You're no faggot, you hear me? Soon you'll forget. It didn't happen. Esto no sucedio."

_That's enough, Peeta!_

Peeta was ripped from the dream. Still have in it, he lurched off the sofa, his hands hitting Cato square in the chest and knocking him off him. "Esto no sucedio!" he yelled at him.

Cato stared at him, his eyes wide. "I had no idea, Peeta, I'm so-"

"Why? Nothing happened," said Peeta, panting heavily. Despite the fact he had saw it clear as day, he still denied it ever happened. That was how he got the memory buried in the first place. Keep denying it and he would still forget. "Come on, what was it you wanted to do next?"

"Peeta, take today off. I'll see you Thursday," Cato said firmly.

"Why? We didn't do anything," Peeta frowned.

"Peeta, I'm serious."

"Why?"

Cato looked at him seriously and handed him his t-shirt. "Because I don't want to hurt you, despite what you may think. And right now isn't the right time to begin. I didn't expect to find what I did and now that I know why you're scared of intimacy, I need to rethink my approach towards this."

Peeta scowled, shrugging his shirt on. "Nothing happened," he said firmly.

"Go home Peeta, that's an order." To make things better, Cato gripped the younger man's shirt and pressed a firm kiss against his lips.

"Esto no sucedio," Peeta whispered desperately against his mouth.

"I know," Cato said, knowing it was best just to humour him. "I know."

**A/N: Spanish translations (from )**

_**No sé, puede que hable español? : I don't know, can you speak Spanish?**_

_**Podemos seguir con todo lo que te apetezca de hoy? : Can we just get on with whatever it is you want to get on with?**_

_**Los cientos, Snow: Sorry Snow.**_

_**No quiero: I do not want.**_

_**Esto no sucedio: It didn't happen.**_

**Please R&R! :D**


	4. Words speak Louder than Actions

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**Warnings: Phone sex.**

_**Chapter Four: Words speak Louder than Actions**_

The relationship started, properly, on the phone.

Peeta knew that the resufacing of the fake memory of what happened between himself and Seneca had made Cato wish to take things slowly. This was irritating, despite the fact it should have probably been viewed as a good thing, since Peeta was given more time before he lost his innocence. He was itching to get started. He didn't know why but it was the truth. He really did want the ball to start rolling and he didn't like having to wait until Thursday for it to happen.

It turned out, he didn't have to wait until Thursday. Cato called on Wednesday night. If it hadn't been for the fake dream incident, Peeta would have seen Cato that day. His master had wanted him to wait a full week. Well, nearly a full week.

It was late. Peeta had been ready for bed when the phone had rang.

"Hello?" he said, dropping onto his bed and wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could pop his painkillers out of the Wednesday wedge on his holder.

"Hello, Peeta, how are you today?"

Cato. Peeta almost dropped the pill holder altogether. "How did you get my phone number?" he asked incredulously.

"Rye has it in his personal file," Cato answered. Peeta sighed in relief. A small part of him worried that Cato had started looking into him and his own personal life. It wasn't that there was anything to hide, the whole idea was just unsettling. This knowledge put Peeta at ease a little and he relaxed. "So, how are you feeling today?"

"Okay, I guess, you?" Peeta muttered. While Cato talked he used his teeth to prise open the lid of the Wednesday wedge.

"Mediocre day. I've been keeping an eye on Rye for you," Cato replied. Peeta paused, unsure of what to say. Thanks seemed unnecessary and a little uncalled for, since Cato wasn't doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He was doing it because Peeta was allowing him access to his body. "His progress is getting better."

"That's good," said Peeta, unsure of what else to say. Cato hadn't rang him up before, especially not about Rye, and he was almost sure there was going to be a catch. Not that he was hugely disgusted about it. In fact, his heart was pounding a little in excitement.

"Doctor Abernathy said that if things keep going at the rate they're going, the minimum Rye will have to spend at the rehab center is two years. Even though this sounds like a long time, it's actually not," Cato continued to explain. A part of Peeta wanted to yell at him to get to the point.

"Is there a motive behind this?" Peeta eventually found himself asking. "Because I'm not an idiot. You haven't called before and out of the blue you do it now? If you're looking for phone sex you couldn't have chosen the most un-sexy time. Although you can give it a go if you like. You want to know what I'm wearing, Cato? Pyjamas. Because I'm about to go to bed."

"What sort of pyjamas?" Cato asked.

The lid finally popped open and Peeta almost gave a whoop of joy. He swallowed his painkillers along with his hayfever meds (an embarrassing necessity if he didn't want to be sneezing all night). "I dunno, just shorts and a t-shirt." He switched the lamp off on his bedside table and settled back against the headboard of the bed. "Sorry, I don't sleep in kinky underwear or completely naked. I like to be comfortable when I'm sleeping."

"As you should be," Cato replied, sounding completely unfazed. "Although, I wouldn't put yourself down so quickly. Those shorts you described sound incredibly sexy. Those gorgeous long legs of yours are perfect for shorts."

Peeta's eyes fell on his legs. His cheeks flamed a little in embarrassment. Whatever Cato was talking about, he couldn't see it. "Well aren't you just full of flattery," he said. "You know, flattery gets you nowhere."

"And I'm sure the fact that you're probably blushing makes that expression entirely feesible," Cato replied.

Peeta touched his cheek with his finger tips, scowling in annoyance. "I'm not blushing. It takes more than that to get me to blush."

He immediately realized this was the wrong thing to say.

"Oh yeah?" Cato's voice was firm, dominant, almost to the point that Peeta felt immediately inclined to obey him, despite the fact he wasn't even in the room. In fact, not even in a five mile radius. "What if I said that I'm currently thinking about slowly removing every item of these 'un-sexy' pyjamas of yours until you're completely exposed in front of me?"

Okay . . . yup . . . that was doing the trick. Peeta swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat. He tried to act cool, as if Cato's voice and words weren't making his blood hotter. "I suppose you're expecting me to say 'oh yes, Cato, your words are making oh so me incredibly aroused!' I'm sorry to disappoint."

"My hands are itching to touch your body again, _Peeta_," Cato continued, regardless as to what Peeta himself said in response. "I can't wait to get you in my office tomorrow so I can strip you down and force you to unravel in front of me."

Peeta was staring intensely at the pattern on his duvet, forcing himself not to get aroused. So far it wasn't working. He knew that Cato would be able to hear his heavy breathing on the other end of the line. He couldn't help it. It was strange, virginal bodies seemed to be the most slutty. Maybe he was past the point of no return, where his body just wanted to be touched and groped and fucked until it was tired and aching, just for it to start all over again.

"So you do want phone sex, then?" he asked weakly.

"I'm going to give you a set of instructions, Peeta, and you're going to follow every single one or when you come into my office tomorrow, you'll be punished, understand?" Cato said. His commanding tone sent a shiver down Peeta's spine.

"Okay," Peeta answered, his own voice unable to control itself and wobbling horribly. Might as well, something told him it was going to be better than his plan of going to sleep.

"Good." The praise was nice, almost like Cato was here in person and was patting his head like he was a dog who'd completed a trick perfectly. Something Peeta hadn't expected would feel good but did. "I want to listen to you while you explore your own body."

His words sent a shiver down Peeta's spine. He squeezed his eyes shut, still trying to convince himself he wasn't completely turned on by what was happening. How was he supposed to go about touching himself? He hadn't done this sort of thing before. The term 'bumbling virgin' seemed like it was created especially for him. There had just never seemed to be time for sex or self-indulgence.

"Don't worry, I'll guide you through it," Cato continued. This put Peeta at ease a little, but not by much. "Take off your shirt." Peeta's hands fumbled for the hem of his shirt and he struggled to pull it over his head, having to drop the phone onto the mattress until he got it off properly.

When it was off, Peeta grabbed the phone and whispered, "I'm back," to Cato so he knew he hadn't clicked off. He would have spoken louder if it hadn't been for the fact that his voicebox had seemed to stop functioning.

"Starting at your chest, I want you to let your hands wander over your body, do what feels natural. And trust me, I know when someone's faking," Cato warned.

Peeta supposed this wasn't too bad. He felt a little awkward, touching himself in this way, but it only took a few minutes before he was able to get used to it. It actually felt nice, the skin on skin contact-even if it was his own skin against his own skin-was quite comforting and soothing. At least he didn't have to fake it, he was breathing all too heavily on his own.

"Touch your nipples and make them hard," Cato growled, obviously getting into it as well.

Peeta laid down on his back, his eyes fluttering closed as he did as his Master told him to. A tiny gasp escaped his lips when his fingers found his nipples, the small sound turning into a loud moan at the shockwaves the touch sent through his being. The phone was lying by his head, just positioned close enough that he could hear Cato and Cato could hear him.

"Do you like that?" asked Cato, sounding amused.

"Y-yes," Peeta gasped, his body squirming, unable to keep still.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you, can you speak up a little?"

"Yes!" Peeta yelled, his voice echoing in his empty room.

"Roll onto your stomach on the bed."

Peeta did this, rolling over as instructed. He grabbed the phone in his hand, pressing it impossibly hard against his ear. His hands itched to touch himself again, which was odd to say the least, since five minutes ago he hadn't ever done it before.

"Relax all your muscles, let yourself sink into the mattress." Cato had gone from commanding to gentle in two seconds flat. This was on some level worrying. Maybe he had mutiple personalities or something . . . But his voice, it was so soothing, Peeta couldn't help doing what he had been told, his body relaxing almost on its own. He was so relaxed that if an axe-murder burst into the room at that exact moment, he probably wouldn't be able to get himself up quick enough. "Are you relaxed?"

"Yes," Peeta mumbled, surprised that he sounded almost sleepy.

"Good boy. Now thrust your hips up into the bed and tell me how it feels."

Peeta had to spread his knees a little to do what Cato said, but once he did, the electric burn that seared through his veins made the awkward position seem worth it. He moaned embarrassingly loud, his knuckles turning white as he desperately held onto the phone as tight as he could.

"Tell me how it feels, Peeta," Cato said.

"It feels wonderful, Master," Peeta answered, completely shocking himself at the fact that the 'M' word slipped out so easily. He couldn't stop himself from doing it again, and again after that, until he didn't even need Cato's instruction anymore. His body was on fire, his nerves set alight and his muscles tense with desire. In fact, he almost forgot that Cato was on the other line at all, he was moaning so loud it was almost shameful.

"The sounds you make are so sexy," Cato purred, sounding greatly amused.

Peeta didn't know what he was reaching but the muscles in his stomach where knotting up and he felt like he was nearing the edge of something glorious. "A-ah M-Master, I-I-"

"What do you want, Peeta?"

Peeta was getting surprsingly upburpt with himself, thursting his hips more harshly the closer he got to his climax. "I want y-y-you t-t-t-to-"

"To what, Peeta?"

"I want to you t-touch me!" Like these words were a trigger of some sort, Peeta experienced his first ever orgasm, the experience blowing a hole in his rational thought and leaving him lying on his stomach, panting like a bitch in heat.

"You've been a very good boy, Peeta," Cato said, his voice even more smug, if that were possible. "Tomorrow, you'll get your reward."

Wait, what did that mean?

"Oh, and Peeta?"

Peeta pushed himself off the bed groggily, feeling like everything had been taken out of him. "What?" he asked, internally groaning at the stain that was now on his bedsheets. Would that wash out? Cato was most definitely paying for his drycleaning. And if it didn't come out, he was buying him new duvet covers.

"Wear your pyjama shorts to my office tomorrow. You have beautiful skin, it's about time you flaunted it more." Cato hung up without another word.

The phone slipped out of Peeta's hand and nearly broke on the floor.

Was he _serious?_

**A/N: Getting into the juicy stuff now :D**

**Please R&R! **

**BTW more will be revealed about Peeta's past as the story progresses.**


	5. Ivory

**A/N: Sorry for the wait I've been busy doing the one shot requests and working on my other story 'Bitten' which I am greatly invested in.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games. This is purely fanfiction for other people's entertainment. I apologize for any typos.**

_**Chapter Five: Ivory**_

Clove tried not to snicker. She bit her lip to hold it back and shut the door behind them. "He's in the office," she said, walking off and fluffing the feather duster in every direction along the way.

Peeta folded his arms insecurely and started up the stairs. It wasn't a good sign that Clove's first reaction was snickering. He felt so exposed and vulnerable. He began to worry about Cato having the same reaction as his maid. What if he didn't look like Cato was expecting him to? What if he turned his nose up at him? What if he didn't like what he saw?

His hand shook as he knocked on the door. "Cato?"

"Come on in."

Peeta stared at the floor as he entered, scared to meet his 'master's' eyes. This was ridiculous, he had just walked through the town like this, because his car was in the garage being fixed up. Everyone he passed looked at him as if he were mad. Peeta had wanted to stop every single one of them and explain that he was not doing this by his own free will.

Cato smirked when he saw him. "You actually did it."

Peeta looked at him incredulously. The embarrassment was ditched for a moment. "Of course I did it, you told me to."

"That is the best response a sub has ever given me," Cato said, sounding thoroughly impressed.

"Oh, well, thanks for the compliment," Peeta muttered. He pulled his sleeve up nervously, trying to cover up as much as he could. The room felt chilly, making goosepimples break out across the surface of his skin. Exposed did not half cover what he was feeling in that moment. He wished for the first time ever that he didn't mind hair and didn't shave all the time. Somehow he felt like Cato would love it.

"Come here," Cato said. Peeta obeyed, walking until he reached the desk and didn't have any more ground to cover. His heart's pace was slowly beginning to build, starting to slowly speed up from it's ordinary beat. He stared at Cato, unsure about how he was expected to proceed.

Cato pushed his seat back a little. "Come round here," he said.

Peeta sucked in a shaky breath and nodded, walking around the desk and standing a few metres away. Was it always going to be like this? Was he always going to be nervous and edgy? He certainly couldn't see himself relaxing in this situation any time soon. How long was Cato planning on keeping it going anyway? Until Rye's treatment was over or . . . after that?

Cato reached out and grabbed his hand. "A little closer than that," he said, pulling him closer. Peeta reluctantly let him. When he was close enough, Cato pulled him into his lap. "Much better." Peeta was scared to move. He felt like if he did, he would disturb something. Cato wound his arms around Peeta's waist and rest his chin on his shoulder. "I want to talk to you about something."

"About what?" Peeta squeaked.

"I know it's obviously a sensitive topic," said Cato slowly, "but we need to talk about what happened when I put you under the hypnosis."

"It was nothing," Peeta immediately said. "It was a nightmare I had when I was younger. Your hynosis just unearthed it, that's all. You don't have to worry about it, I swear." Cato was being surprisingly gentle, his thumbs tracing soft circles on his hips underneath his shirt. "I used to have nightmares like that all the time when I was younger."

"But Peeta, it was so vivid," Cato said.

Peeta stared at the papers on Cato's desk with a frown. "Because sometimes nightmares are vivid," he answered.

Cato tsked and Peeta knew that he did not believe anything he said. But that was his loss. Because the ordeal with Seneca didn't happen, his mother told him so. She said it was a nightmare, all of it. And Peeta had no reason to not believe his mother. She never lied to any of them. And when Peeta was a child, he had suffered a lot of nightmares. He just never had one like that before. One thing his mother never explained, however, was why Seneca never showed his face at the house again.

"Is that going to deter you from what you planned to do with me?" asked Peeta. He didn't know whether the thought of Cato dumping him because of his nightmare about Seneca was a relief or a disappointment. "Because that has never made me wish to stray away from intimacy before."

"So you've thought about intimacy with another man?" asked Cato.

"Uh . . ." Peeta's mouth was suddenly dry. He struggled for words before finally squeaking out a tiny, "Kind of." The truth was, it was Cato that had made him start thinking about intimacy with other men. But what he had said was still true, the Seneca nightmare hadn't deterred him from such thoughts.

Cato grinned wickedly. "I knew you weren't that innocent. Innocence doesn't exist."

"It doesn't?" asked Peeta.

"Purity, maybe. But not innocence."

"Oh." Peeta swiftly brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "What is it you wish to do today, anyway? Since you're not planning to . . . uh . . . 'punish' me for not engaging in your peadaphilic phone encounter."

"Peadaphilic phone encounter," Cato repeated. One of his hands had crept down from Peeta's hip and rested comfortably on the fabric of his shorts that covered his thigh. "From what I heard you quite enjoyed the . . . 'peadaphilic' phone encounter."

"I admit to nothing," Peeta muttered, his face burning in embarrassment.

Cato smirked, but said nothing. Peeta watched as he reached for the phone on his desk and tugged it closer. He pressed a couple of buttons and then something muffled came through on the speaker. Peeta strained to hear what it was, leaning closer to the phone in curiosity. He jumped back in shock when the relization dawned on him.

"You recorded that phone call?!" he exclaimed.

"Of course I did," replied Cato. "That, my gorgeous little pet, is the sound of you humping your own bed. And, as I am out to say-" He stopped.

_"The sounds you make are so sexy." _

Peeta's jaw unhinged in horror. "But that means that I-"

_"A-ah M-Master, I-I-"_

"Oh my god, are you kidding me right now?!" Peeta shouted. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die while simulatneously feeling the urge to smack Cato for being such a disgusting pervert.

_"What do you want, Peeta?"_

_"I want y-y-you t-t-t-to-"_

The breathing was getting choppier and harsher. Peeta couldn't listen, pressing his face against his thighs, completely mortified, and covering his ears to block it all out. Cato listened without pause, a smug smile on his face the entire time.

_"To what, Peeta?"_

_"I want to you t-touch me!"_

Unable to take it anymore, Peeta lurched forward and thumped the stop button. Cato leaned back in his seat, the shift of his knees causing Peeta's feet to lift off the floor. "Oh my god, can this get any worse?" the younger boy grumbled in sheer embarrassment.

"Well, not unless you think my furfilling your request is something worse?" guessed Cato.

"What request?" Peeta asked.

Cato pulled Peeta back against him, so his back was flush against his front, and purred into his ear, "The request to touch you." His hands tried to slip underneath the pyjama shorts but Peeta burst out laughing-more hysterical than humourous-and scrambled out of Cato's lap. He got his feet on the ground and turned around, only to stumble backwards into the desk when Cato stood up as well.

There was a predatory look in his eyes that made Peeta laugh even harder. Ever since he was a child, he would laugh when he was nervous. It was something he couldn't control and the more anxious he got, the harder he laughed. "You really wouldn't like down there," he tried to reason. "I'm a mess-" He stopped when he realized that Cato had already seen him 'down there' before and obviously did not have a problem.

Damn.

Okay, he was going to have to come up with a new stragety.

Peeta yelped in shock when Cato hoisted him up and neatly sat him on the edge of the desk. He felt a little humiliated at how his feet didn't reach the floor and swung back and forth inches from it. Cato wrapped his fingers around the back of his neck and pulled Peeta close their mouths touched. Instantly Peeta forgot about his laughing or the fact that he was a midgit. All he could focus on was how soft and warm Cato's lips were.

Peeta let Cato's tongue invade his mouth, where it stroked him into an infinitie oblivion where reasonable thought didn't exist. A soft moan escaped him but he didn't care. Cato's mouth moved fiercely against Peeta's, who felt like he was fumbling a little bit. Somehow, Cato managed to be gentle and rough at the exact same time.

The hands, once at his waist, hooked into the waistband of his shorts. Peeta squirmed away nervoulsy. "I don't know," he said, pushing back.

Cato kissed his neck, the hand on the base of his neck playing with the curls that pressed there. "We can talk more about your nightmares," he said. His tongue found a paticularly sensitive area between Peeta's neck and collarbone, creating an electric jolt that went straight to the younger boy's groin.

"I don't know," Peeta simply repeated, his back arching into Cato in a way he didn't understand. It was kind of like he was a piece of metal being pulled toward a manget. His body craved to be touched, the same way it had during the phone call, but he was scared. He was frightened, terrified, even, of his own primal instincts.

"Just tell me what to do and I'll do it," Cato pulled back, his arms looped around Peeta's waist, caging him. "I may be blackmailing you but I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"I want . . ." Peeta trailed off unsurely. He touched his fingertips to his lips. They were warm and swollen. "I don't know what I want."

Cato smiled, as if he expected this. "I can help you figure it out if you just relax and trust me," he said.

Peeta stared at Cato, unsure about whether he could trust him at all or not. But was he forever to live carefully, never taking risks, never indulging in simple pleasures? Peeta nodded. "Okay, help me."

The answer greatly pleased Cato. He leaned in and captured Peeta's lips again, slowly absorbing the taste of the younger boy's mouth. Peeta forced himself to relax, closing his eyes and focusing on nothing else but Cato's lips moving against his own. Cato gently pushed him so he lay on his back on the desk, never once breaking the kiss. Peeta's heart pounded in fear and trepidation, so hard he knew Cato could feel it when he placed a gentle hand on his chest.

Cato's arms were tightly wrapped around Peeta's waist but they were slowly venturing lower. Peeta tried not to squirm but couldn't help it, the muscles of his lower stomach tightening the way they had done the previous night. His hips thrust up in search of the relief his mattress had provided.

Cato hooked his fingers into the waistband of Peeta's shorts and gently tugged them down. Peeta, for some reason, found himself lifting his hips to help Cato. The fear of being exposed was lost in a sea of ecstasy and passion. He couldn't think straight, all he really wanted was to feel that glorious feeling he had experienced the previous night. And it seemed that Cato was the only person who could give him that.

"You have beautiful skin," Cato purred, pushing his hands up underneath Peeta's shirt to expose his torso.

Peeta blushed, the pink tint poisoning his chest and neck. Cato grinned and kissed the flush. The feeling of his lips carefully skimming over his skin made Peeta whine in want, his inhibitions having been washed down the drain. "It's like you're made up of porcelin." He feathered his fingers down Peeta's stomach, watching his stomach heave under his touch. "Like you could crack and break under the gentlest of pressures."

If Cato had have said this when Peeta wasn't lost in his own little world of pleasure then he would have came out with a smart response but he couldn't because he barely heard him. "Cato p-please, I n-n-need-"

"Sssh, I know," Cato teased. He kissed Peeta's navel, chuckling when Peeta groaned in response. Cato pushed his hand into his lover's underwear, kissing his lips to silence his moan as he took a gentle hold of his shaft.

A loud mewl exploded from Peeta's throat when Cato started stroking him. The thing that aroused him most, beside his better judgement, was the fact that Cato was being so gentle with him, almost like he were a piece of porcelin that could break. Peeta's hands wound around Cato's neck but he couldn't keep still so they soon slipped down and scrabbled at his back. All the blood rushed from his head and went straight to his groin, leaving all rational thought behind as his head hollowed out.

Peeta squeezed his eyes tighter and tried to focus on the movement of Cato's hand on him. Up and down, up and down, up and down, bringing him closer to that proverbial edge that he had reached yesterday.

He felt it coming, closer and closer, until he couldn't hold on anymore. With a scream of ecstasy, Peeta's back bowed into Cato and he released. When it was over, he fell back against the desk and just lay there, exhausted.

"You could have warned me," Cato chuckled, pulling his hand out from Peeta's underwear with a smirk. Peeta blushed when he saw the white liquid covering it but it had nothing on the scarlet that stained his face when the older man licked it all off. "Hmm, you taste gorgeous."

All Peeta wanted now was to go to sleep. "That was . . ."

"I know," Cato replied. He helped Peeta ease his shorts back on, his hands caressing a generous portion of his bare legs along the way. "I can safely say that you're the first guy I've ever brought to orgasm who was still wearing his black sneakers at the time."

Peeta realized that he was, indeed, still wearing his shoes. "Well, congrats."

Cato chuckled. "Come on, you're all sweaty, I'll draw you a bath."

Peeta blinked, heaving himself to sit up straight on the desk. "Huh?"

"I said come, I'll draw you a bath," Cato said, taking Peeta's hand and guiding him off the desk.

"I've done enough coming today to last me a while," Peeta muttered, following Cato like an obedient puppy.

Cato laughed. "Oh, we'll see."

**A/N: R&R with your thoughts! :)**


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